Do you want to know a Secret?
by Melanyholland
Summary: They were friends. That short moment of transgression when they had almost slipped in something more would stay secret like their rendezvous.


**Title: **Do You Want to Know a Secret?

**Author:** Melanyholland

**Summary**: They were friends. That short moment of transgression when they had almost slipped in something more would stay secret like theirrendezvous.

**Rating:** T

**Timeline:** after episode 4x08 (_Juliet Doesn't Live Here Anymore_). I had written this before I watched the second half of the season, when Louis returns.

**Pairing:** Chuck/Blair

**Disclaimer:** Gossip Girl is not mine. I play with its characters.

**Note:** as usual, this is a translation of one of my Italian stories. I'm sorry if there are some mistakes, feel free to tell me if you find them.

Do You Want to Know a Secret?

_You'll never know how much I really love you.  
>You'll never know how much I really care.<em>

The Beatles

"I had almost forgotten how amazing sex is," Blair sighed with a smile on her lips, lying on her side and cuddled up under the soft blankets. She felt Chuck's arm encircling her waist and his hot, panting breath on her dump nape, so she closed her eyes, relaxing against him. There was no need to say it out loud, but she had also forgotten the pleasurable sensation of resting in Chuck's arms, their legs entwined, his solid and male presence around her while her heartbeat slowed, returning to a normal rhythm.

Of course, feeling so good with him didn't mean anything. _It couldn't_.

"Why? You didn't have many chances of revision last summer?" she heard Chuck whispering casually behind her. Blair's smile became nasty. Poor Bass. Surely he was regretting his decision of not spying her because he was too busy playing the out of season version of Dickens's _Christmas Carol_, later enriched with pathetic ideas from _Pretty Woman_. Blair had always hated that ridiculous movie, although she had appreciated the shop assistant's behaviour when she met that unbearable, slutty social climber.

"I wouldn't say that," she teased him, nonchalantly. After all, they were _friends_. And since friends speak about this sort of thing, she added, coquettishly: "I love French guys, they have that _Je ne sais quoi_… especially when they belong to a royal family."

"Did you date another Marcus?" Chuck asked, stiffly. It was incredible that Blair and her queen fantasies were always able to find a noble suitor, he though irritated.

"Mmm..." she temporized, to play him along. "… a lady doesn't brag about her conquests. Plus, unlike someone, _I_ don't bring home my summer flings." She concluded, bitterly.

"So you did have them," Chuck insisted, nuzzling her silky neck and breathing _Chanel Nº5_, the perfume more pervasive due to the physical activity just finished. If Blair's interpretation of his pure curiosity was wrong, he thought, it wouldn't be his fault. Blair's sex life had always intrigued him since he was fourteen and sometimes entertained himself with fantasies about her first performance in bed with dear Nathaniel. Blair being all cold and bossy was his favourite. Once he had even shamelessly told Blair his speculation, and she had glared at him at called him a "disgusting pig," while he enjoyed mercilessly her ill-concealed embarrassment. Blair was so _innocent_ then, Chuck thought. He hadn't taught her all the tricks she now used to drive him crazy yet, and she hadn't realized how passionate she could be. Even though they had made love –no, _had sex_- several times by now, Blair was still able to surprise and delight him with bold moves she invented by instinct.

Blair rolled over lazily, rubbing herself against him in a really tantalizing and pleasurable way, like a kitten. When he could watch her face, Chuck saw that she was wearing an impertinent smirk on her lips and a malicious sparkle in her eyes. The soft flush on her cheeks looked good on her pretty face and her dishevelled hair, far from giving her a sloppy appearance, looked incredibly sexy. Beads of perspiration had formed on her forehead and throat. Chuck wanted to put his lips on them, tasting the salty, hot flavour of Blair's skin on his tongue.

"As I said, Bass, what happens in Paris stays in Paris. Thank God. I don't know if I could stand seeing you again dressed as a tramp."

"But…"

Suddenly, Blair was all over him: her eager mouth on his, her breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs around his hips, her elbows on the pillow, on each side of his face to trap him beneath her after she had pushed him on his back. So, Chuck entwined his fingers in her luxuriant curls and responded to the kiss with the same eagerness, forgetting his annoying thoughts about other men who had touched her, lost in the paradisiacal sensation of Blair on top of him. They interrupted the kiss only when they were both so breathless that their lungs hurt, but Chuck wasn't ready to let her go, so he kept hugging her, his forehead on hers, while their breaths mixed. He didn't want to give up the sensation of having Blair all around him. She was so delicate and petite, but at the same time familiar and comforting.

Blair didn't seem to mind the physical contact either: after her rush of passion, she was languid and docile in his embrace. Deceivingly docile, his mind reminded him, because Chuck was well aware of the great power that the woman who had just rested her head on his chest had over him. Blair knew how to save him, _It wouldn't be my world without you in it_, but she also knew how to destroy him,_ I don't love you anymore_, with only a single phrase uttered by her desirable lips, now swollen for his kisses.

Chuck was looking at her through the eyelashes of his half-closed eyes and the intensity of his stare, the warmth of his embrace and the sweetness of his fingers caressing her hair had a soothing effect on her. They do every time, but she had never told him –and of course now she couldn't anymore. _Perhaps_.

Anyway, she had succeeded in distracting him (Chuck could be so stubborn sometimes) and she had found the actuation of the plan as satisfying as the result (_extremely_ satisfying, actually), so she leaned over to peck him on the lips and moved to rest on her side again, with Chuck behind her and his arms around her. She wouldn't mind exploring some more the benefits of her friendship with Chuck, but it was already 2:30 am, she had to wake up early and they always lost the track of time when they were really _engaged_, which happened every time. Blair couldn't hold herself back with Chuck: the things he could do with his hands, the spots he touched with his tongue… Blair nibbled at her lower lip, stopping her indecent thoughts before they made her ravish him again. With all the orgasms she had with him, it was no surprise that her body reacted to Chuck's presence even when they simply shook hands, or that she found him hot even when he wore her robe. Actually, Blair thought he was attractive at the _Gare du Nord_ station too, with his unruly hair and cheap clothes. _Very_ attractive, to be completely honest. But she would never tell him, and in the meantime she messed up his hair and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt every time they had sex, even when they were in a public area and they need to hurry and most of the clothes stayed on.

"Don't you want to?" asked Chuck in a disappointed voice, while he was brushing aside her hair to kiss that special spot on her throat which always made her shiver. Blair shut her eyes, moaned and pressed herself against him at the feeling of his lips sucking her skin. She heard him chuckle.

"You do." He said cockily, and even thought she couldn't see him, Blair knew he was smirking.

"Look who is talking," she retorted, sliding a hand under the blankets to squeeze the part of him which poked insistently at her ass cheek.

Chuck groaned and Blair smirked, letting go.

"I've never said the contrary, Waldorf." He said, hoarsely.

"In any case, we can't. Tomorrow at eight I have an appointment with Serena to have breakfast together before we go to Columbia."

"I'm flattered, Blair, but relax: if we start right now, I'm almost sure that we'll be finished by eight." He retorted smugly, making her smile against the pillow.

"That's not the point, you idiot."

"What's the point?"

"A: I love bags, but the ones under the eyes don't match with any of my shoes, and B: It's hard to listen to the dilemma Nate or Dan when I'm perfectly awake, imagine how hard it'll be when I'm sleepy. I have to spend time with my best friend too, you know."

"But I bet it's not as _enjoyable_ as our time together." Chuck winked, seductively.

"Your meeting with your business associates won't be either." Blair retorted. "It is scheduled for tomorrow at half past nine, isn't it?"

Chuck sighed, a warm puff against her ear.

"Unfortunately, it is."

"Put on the white-striped pink tie. And…"

"…the Navy blue three-piece suit." Chuck finished for her, brushing her temple with his lips. Blair smiled and nodded.

"You'll be perfect. But no shade of purple for the shirt."

"Don't be crazy, now." He scolded her, and his voice was so genuinely affronted that it was also unintentionally comic. Blair, amused by his reaction and in a teasing mood, moved on her back to eye him impertinently.

"Face facts, Chuck: no stylists used purple in their collections this autumn." She teased him, raising her eyebrows disdainfully like she used to do around her minions every time she criticized a dress out of fashion or simply horrible.

"Because nobody wears it like I do." He replied cockily and Blair laughed heartily because she knew that it wasn't a joke, he really believed that.

"I disagree. Purple looks good on me." She retorted, flirtatiously. "Do you remember last year, on the Fourth of July?".

The lascivious light in Chuck's eyes was enough to answer her question. Surely he was remembering their decision of having the traditional picnic in bed ("To avoid the grass stains on our clothes," he had said, but actually there hadn't been clothes _at all_ during their picnic with red fruit, caramel and vintage champagne). When the fireworks had started, she had hurried towards the window, putting on his lavender shirt only (on purpose, because it took too much to button it up, so the navel and the breasts peeped out, and the silk hem caressed provokingly her thighs just below her groin, because Chuck wasn't much taller than her). While she was looking at the fireworks, Blair had smiled, perceiving Chuck's heated stare on her instead of on the fireworks display. She _loved_ teasing him.

"I do." He admitted fervently, then raised his eyebrows, proudly. "But even thought you looked absolutely lovely that night, Blair, I still think that purple looks better on me."

"What?" She protested, affronted. She slapped his arm too, for good measure.

"But I admit that when you don't wear anything, nobody can compete with you." He coaxed her, caressing her bare breasts adoringly. Blair snorted, but his touch felt good and for some reason she was particularly cheerful, so she laughed, shaking her head.

When he started laughing too, Blair cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again, because she had missed joking with Chuck and was happy to see him smile. For weeks there had been only glares and words full of hatred between them. It was a good change, being so happy and smiley with each other.

However, part of her couldn't help wondering whether he joked with the Prostitute with the Golden Heart too, maybe in bed, after sex, just like they were doing now. In all the photos Gossip Girl and the paparazzi had taken of Chuck with the dowdy blonde, he was always smiling joyfully, his eyes sparkling every time he looked at her, so enchanted, so _in love_…

Blair abruptly interrupted the kiss and Chuck frowned, confused by the sudden change of attitude. Her white teeth were nibbling nervously and unconsciously at her lower lip, like every time something bothered her, and her arms had fallen on the mattress, as if she didn't want to touch him anymore.

"Are you okay, Blair?" he asked, and several emotions took turns in her eyes before she spoke, so quickly that it was impossible for Chuck to recognize them. Eventually, her playful smile came back and she answered: "Of course," before adding, casually:

"In Paris I met a Prince. He told me that I could call him Louis and that I'm beautiful, then he invited me to a ball."

It was incredible how a bunch of phrases could perfectly sum up Blair's dream since she was a little girl and she scrabbled Princes and Princesses on her album. Chuck felt an unpleasant acidity corroding his stomach.

"And how was it?" he asked between gritted teeth, while images of Blair next to a fop invaded his brain, hurtful and unstoppable like an infection. As soon as he was out of there, he would tell Mike to do some research on this mysterious Prince Louis. He wanted to know how he looked like, whether he had found someone else he could invite to balls and whether Chuck could do something to make it happen.

Blair was staring at him. Chuck was aware that she could see his distress like he had been able to see hers a few minutes before, but he didn't care. He would also wonder about the reasons of his discomfort later, because _I don't love you_ _anymore_ and _How could I still love you after what you did_? didn't let him be truthful –especially with Blair, but also with himself.

Little by little, Chuck saw her relaxing. The hand with the ruby ring brushed away a lock of hair on his forehead, then caressed his jaw, as if she wanted to make sure he was upset.

"The ball?" she whispered eventually, still very uncertain. There was a heated debate inside her, she wasn't able to decide what she could tell him and what she couldn't. Chuck could see it, and he wasn't happy. Perhaps Blair was afraid that her revelations would destroy their friendship, so she didn't want to tell him that she had kissed the Prince in the luxuriant room of his palace and that it had made her feel like a Princess in a fairytale, at the centre of the attention and envied by all the other guests; that she and the Prince had had sex on a four-poster bed in front of a fireplace – and of course it had been when he had whispered in her ear that she was beautiful, and Blair had moaned in ecstasy his _name_, like he wanted her to, and then…

"I have no idea, I didn't go." Blair confessed, and Chuck felt the air around them lighter and fresher, it didn't suffocate him anymore.

"You didn't?" he repeated, happily incredulous.

"Yeah. Pity. My red Oscar de la Renta was perfect for the occasion."

It took him a second to realize what Blair was actually telling him and when he did, he felt a large spontaneous smile stretching his lips, out of control. Blair seemed pleased by his reaction. Her gaze had sweetened, but there was still a bit of sadness.

"You're right. You were gorgeous." Chuck whispered adoringly and it wasn't enough yet. It was impossible to describe Blair's beauty while she was walking towards him in that sumptuous dress, or the flood of intense and mixed emotions he had felt, amazement and anguish, relief and fear, love -_for her_, and hate -_for himself_. Of course Blair had spoken first, because looking at her, he had been speechless.

Chuck knew he wasn't supposed to speak to her like that –uttering praises full of adoration and desire wasn't something a friend would do- but he didn't care: Blair had blushed, and red was the colour that looked best on her, on her cheeks and on her lips, and when it wrapped her enticing body in soft waves. Exactly like that night in Paris, when she had come to him to take him home on the heels of her red shoes.

But there was still a shadow dancing in her eyes that Chuck couldn't understand.

"More gorgeous than _her_?" Blair whispered eventually, without looking at him. Her teeth were still torturing her lower lip, but she couldn't help it. She hated being so vulnerable, being second to another blonde, less beautiful, less loved, simply… _less_. She had thought that Chuck would have never done that to her.

She felt his hand cupping her cheek.

"Look at me, Blair."

After a moment of hesitation when she tried to erase the evidence of his discomfort from her face – but she couldn't. Everything occurred to Chuck, like she had told him the year before – she obeyed, looking at those hazel eyes of his, full of tenderness, in which once she had believed she would reflect herself for the rest of her life.

"I've never told her those three words."

Blair eyed him attentively, while her mind was rummaging through the annoying memories she usually ignored, looking for a proof that he was lying. She didn't find it, but it didn't mean that Chuck hadn't declared his love to the girl when they were alone under the starry sky of New York. She knew it, but a part of her she wasn't quite willing to accept wanted to believe him. Believe that they were still _special_, despite everything.

"Really?" she asked, hopefully. Chuck softly kissed her lips, delicate like a rustle of a_ chiffon_ skirt.

"I said them to one person only. And I've felt that way only with her." He admitted in a whisper. Blair stared at him for a long moment, fighting against her distrust and in the end, she smiled. No, there hadn't been romantic declarations in the moonlight, neither in Paris nor in New York, because even thought_ Henry_ perhaps wanted to, _Chuck _couldn't. Blair read it in his eyes, in their history, in her heart.

For a moment, Blair had the impression that he wanted to add something, that the words were already on his half-closed lips, ready to come out. But the moment passed, Chuck averted his gaze and she let it go.

They were friends. That short moment of transgression when they had almost slipped in something more would stay secret like theirrendezvous.

Unfortunately in the Upper East Side secrets never last.

**End**

**Melany's Notes:**

[1] "Do You Want to Know a Secret?" is a song of The Beatles.

[2] Thank you so much for your kind reviews of the second chapter of "Two of a Kind". I appreciated them. So, thanks to **QueenBee10**, **Trigemini** and **LetMeIn1812**. :)


End file.
